the reply.

"Oh, Martin Druce," he said. "Want to see me about the lease of the Cafe
Sinister, eh?"

His mind worked rapidly while he again listened.

"All right," he blustered finally, "all right, see you in fifteen
minutes. Yes,--yes, here!"

He hung up the receiver and took a cigar from his pocket, thoughtfully
biting off the end, as he muttered half aloud:

"Martin Druce, eh? Cafe Sinister--Ah!"

His lips ceased moving as he looked about him. He was still thinking
deeply; then he struck a match and lighted the cigar at the glowing flame
which he contemplated for a second before extinguishing it. With a look
of one who has just solved a problem, he cast aside the charred ember and
gritted:

"I guess so."

He seized a sheet of paper and rapidly scratched a few words on its white
surface, settling back comfortably in the big chair as Harry came in.

"All right, Governor," called out the son; but he paused in astonishment
when he saw that his father was alone. "Why--why, where's Patience?"

"Miss Welcome had to go,--she said," returned the other, calmly puffing
his cigar.

"Didn't she leave any word for me?"

"Yes, she said she'd see you again."

"When?" asked Harry, impatiently. "Why, I don't even know where she
lives."

"I thought of that," replied his father, as he handed the memorandum slip
to Harry, on which he had just written. "Here's her address."

Harry took the bit of paper gratefully, and looked at it.

"Why--"

"What's the matter?" John Boland surveyed the wrapper of his cigar with
keen interest, deftly closing a small broken place in it.

"This address!" exclaimed Harry.

"Well, what about it?"

"It's in the lowest, most depraved section of the city."

"Yes, I noticed that."

Harry looked up at his father quizzically.

"You did?"

"Yes."

"Governor," began Harry pointedly, a new idea beginning to dawn upon him,
"if you do not know that a great deal of your property is rented and used
for the most immoral purposes how do you know this address so well?"

"Why," spluttered Boland, senior, "I--I've read the papers."

"But this vile section of the city that you own has never been
published."

"Look here, Harry," demanded his father, aggressively, "do you doubt my
word?"

"I do," was the firm reply.

"I'm your father," he retorted angrily.

"You are," agreed Harry, "but this is a matter of right and wrong, and
you can't fool me again as you have all these years."

"I'